


Ice Fishing (Slashy epilogue for Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run)

by Zoya1416



Series: "Potter Lives" [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, First Time, Gay Draco Malfoy, Humour, Inspired by Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer For Delinquents On The Run by waspabi, M/M, bi harry potter, discussion of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: On the run from Voldemort, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy develop feelings for each other. They've been squashed in a tent with five other people and no privacy. This is their first time alone, when they can finally be together.In the original TEEN RATED fic by waspabi, Harry and Draco slowly begin to like each other, despite the fact of Draco's posh pureblood background, and Harry's essentially Muggle childhood. He's suffered six more years of the Dursley's abuse than in canon HP until he escaped at age seventeen with little more than his shabby clothes. The relationship in the original is tentative and early, barely more than pining and a few kisses. I desperately wanted to see more action, and realized I had to write this slash epilogue. The ice fishing comment comes from ch.8, the last chapter of the original.This is an EXPLICIT AU epilogue to the original fic.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Implied Ginny Weasley/Luna Lovegood
Series: "Potter Lives" [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701967
Comments: 15
Kudos: 128





	Ice Fishing (Slashy epilogue for Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331278) by [waspabi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waspabi/pseuds/waspabi). 



> The coarse language/swearing here is of the same level as the original fic.

Harry was tired of listening to the Order of the Phoenix after an hour, but Hermione was bright-eyed and eager. She was enjoying matching wits with Professor Mcgonagall, who apparently had been a revered figure at Hogwarts. They had been introduced to the Order, but Harry could only remember Mad-Eye Moody because of his bizarre artificial eye, and Professor Snape, who had been introduced as a double agent, and not the Death Eater he’d apparently pretended to be. Draco had glared and turned his back on Snape, but Harry didn’t know why. His head throbbed horribly, and he wanted to get away from all these adults.

But then they brought out dinner and his stomach rumbled, as did Ron’s. The roast beef, potatoes, carrots and turnips floated out by wands. He was afraid the dishes would spill, but they swooped gracefully to the table. They offered butterbeer, apparently a wizarding favorite; he thought the taste was weird but the others were delighted. Harry hadn’t had so much food since they’d been at Jane and Cynthia’s and couldn’t stop eating. The others were digging in as well, and Ron made frankly disgusting noises eating his roast. Then a huge Eve’s pudding with hot custard sailed to the table, and Harry groaned. He surreptitiously unbuttoned the top button of his jeans and ate a generous helping.

After the feast everyone moved to a sitting room with a crackling fire. Hermione was talking to a distinguished gentleman named Firebolt or something. Harry couldn’t remember. Ginny was chatting to the talking portraits – apparently their school had talking portraits as well. A dark-haired woman in a long white dress had yelled at her. “It is inappropriate for young women to wear trousers! Disgraceful!” Ginny flapped her hand at the picture and laughed.

Ron played chess with Remus Lupin, who appeared to be giving him a serious challenge. Professor Mcgonagall talked in a quiet voice to Neville; she had news about his grandmother. Luna had disappeared to the kitchen to collect the butterbeer caps for a new necklace. Which left Harry sitting on a sofa with Draco far away at the other end. He was furiously reading the latest issue of the Daily Prophet and ignoring everyone. He wanted to ask Draco why he was so angry with the sour-faced professor. He wanted to get Draco alone and do soft things with him, but it was ten times worse with all these new people around. He wanted to be back in their crappy tent in the dark tunnel away from them.

It was about ten o’clock when Hermione shook herself away from her conversations. “It has been a real pleasure, Professor Mcgonagall, and we have much more to discuss. We’ll go back to our base now and see you tomorrow.”

Harry hadn’t noticed the weather until Ginny said, “I’m not going back in all that.” He looked out the window and saw that the cloudy weather had changed to whipping wind and sleet.

“It’s not far, Ginny, and we can cast Impervious Charms. It will be fine.” Hermione said. She didn’t even glance at Harry. Harry’s head was pounding harder. It was at his request that they were camping in their tent away from Grimmauld Place, because he didn't trust these new adults. They were strangers and he had no reason to trust them, and every reason to think they'd want to take control of Hermione's renegade band. Even a mile walk in sleet would be better than staying here. 

Neville and Ron had noticed the foul weather also, and Neville said, “Please, Hermione, we can go back in the morning. It’s really rotten out there."

Luna, who’d drifted back from the kitchen with her new necklace, said thoughtfully, “I’d love to go back to the underground. There will be more dragons tonight, you know. They hate the rain.”

Professor Mcgonagall held her hand against her mouth as she suppressed a smile at Luna’s pronouncement, and said briskly, “We have plenty of room and there’s no need to be out in this weather. It will take Kreacher only minutes to set up the bedrooms."

Draco said nothing, but he glanced at Harry. Somehow he’d acquired another bowl of custard. He dipped his spoon into it, holding Harry’s gaze. He slowly swallowed the custard and casually licked the spoon clean before setting it on a side table. Harry’s face flushed hotly and Draco lifted one eyebrow in a slight quirk. This was horrible, and all right, he wasn’t keen on a walk through sleet right now, either, even if Draco didn’t mean – anything, which he probably didn’t. He suddenly wanted to find one of those many bedrooms, and it was horrible. It was the worst thing, and he looked at Hermione. 

“Yeah, right, let’s stay here tonight,” he muttered.

“Thank you, Harry.”

“The place has bedrooms on the second and third floor,” said Sirius, who had wandered in to watch the chess game. “The Order has the rooms on the second, and the ones on the third are small, but there’s eight of them. There’s a bathroom on each floor.” He yelled, “Kreacher!” and the house elf popped into the sitting room. “We need seven bedrooms set up.”

“Six,” said Hermione primly, although her face went a little red. 

“Five,” said Ginny, hooking her arm through Luna’s. 

Harry looked at Draco. Draco was examining his nails, ignoring the discussion, but Harry saw his ears were pink. He wasn’t going to say anything if Malfoy didn’t. They’d touched each other in the tent, carefully, secretly, while Neville snored in the bunk above them, but if Malfoy didn’t want to be with him tonight – well. The posh git, teasing him with the custard.

Sirius had not missed one second of the glances between Harry and Draco, and he snickered. “Five it is, Kreacher.” 

“We can help, Kreacher, if you show us where the blankets and linens are,” said Hermione. She looked at Ron in an insistent way.

“Uh, yeah, right, we can help,” mumbled Ron.

“No, no, Kreacher has it. Kreacher fixes rooms for polite guests, just take a minute.” He popped away. 

When they’d arrived on the third floor, Hermione took Ron briskly into the first bedroom, and Ginny pulled Luna into the second. Harry hesitated, and Neville took the third. Harry opened the door to the fourth and went in without saying anything to Draco. Why was Draco so confusing _all the time_? The one chance they’d had to be alone, and he’d passed it by.

Sirius had described the third-floor bedrooms as small, but they were eight feet by ten feet, with a double bed in each room. Massive amounts of space compared to the tent. There was also a small desk with a chair, and a washstand with cabinets under it. The washstand held a jug and bowl with a green and white china pattern. Dragons puffed lazily around the bowl, and Harry wondered if everything in wizarding houses moved. Kreacher had put the sheets and duvet on the bed, with two pillows which smelled of lavender. Harry sat on the bed and put his head into his hands. He looked up as the door snicked open.

Draco was irritable beyond his normal state and said, “I had to go to the loo, and bloody Granger came out and _talked_ to me. She noticed that I hadn’t said I wanted to room with you, and she _talked_ to me. She asked if we were having problems and said things about ‘clear communication in relationships.’ I thought I would have to hex her.”

“I – you didn’t say anything and I thought you wanted to be by yourself.”

“Of course I didn’t say anything, you tosser! I didn’t want the lot of them to know about – fuck, Potter, you know, that we were _ice fishing_.” 

Harry snorted. “That’s what we’re calling it now?” He held up an arm as Draco had done, and Draco went over and sat by him. Harry remembered the last time they’d been alone like this, at Cynthia and Jane’s, when they lay in the bed holding hands. He didn’t know what to do, where to put his hands. What was Draco thinking?

Draco carefully slipped off his dragon-leather loafers. Harry had looked at them after Malfoy complained that his shoes were ruined. There was a large stain on one side, but it just made the surface rough-looking. The shoes weren’t ruined at all, and probably still had the years of wear left in them that Draco said they should have. Malfoy had said he hated being poor since he ran away from his family, but he had no idea what that meant. His shoes didn’t have thin soles which flapped off, he’d always had enough to eat, and he had apparently more money than God. That had come out in the discussion tonight, which was one reason why Draco had sulked away to read the Prophet. 

Professor Mcgonagall had asked Hermione something about whether they needed money, and he had overheard her explain how much each of them had contributed to their renegade run. It didn’t quite add up – the Weasleys were apparently so poor they had only put in a few galleons, but then they hadn’t had any trouble paying for their drinks at the pub. Neville had bought the bunkbeds and futon. Luna had brought in the rest of the furniture. Her father hadn’t moved out of the big house after her mother died, and she had taken a couch, table and chairs. Hermione had paid for her expandable purse, a luxury size, the bed linens, duvets, towels, soap, toothpaste, and toothbrushes. He remembered her parents were dentists. “That’s Muggle for Tooth Healer,” Draco had announced once, proud about knowing the word.

Draco, who’d claimed to be a leech on the rebels, had paid for the tent and provided the money for all the food, and had been annoyed that Hermione had been pinching the pennies as much as she had. He also secretly had enough money to keep them on the run for years. He had apologized profusely to her when he joined the rebels, because he had not been able to sneak out much money – and then had said he had 500 galleons. Harry still found the conversion from galleons to pounds difficult – it seemed to vary, but was now about 25 to one, Hermione said, and he could quickly calculate that as twelve-thousand five hundred pounds. Three thousand or so pounds a year for average groceries for a family of four, he’d read once, or poor groceries for a troop of seven teens – anyway, the point was that Draco had more money than God. Harry suspected him of having lied to Hermione and having even more money hidden, because he would.

Draco had let slip, at one point during their long wait at Parkinson Park, that Malfoy Manor was a good bit bigger than Parkinson Park, and the Park was 50 acres. He couldn’t begin to calculate the Malfoy wealth – multi-millionaires? Billionaires? What could possess him to think Draco would ever be interested in a poor Desi boy?

But Draco was sitting by him now, and had pulled his hands away from his face. He brushed back Harry’s hair and said, “You surly wanker, why are you looking like your pet kneazle just died?”

“What do you fucking _want,_ Draco?” Harry was tired, so tired of all the dancing around, the touching and not touching, (which was also a function of the fact that they’d so far only been in a tent with no privacy, and why was he wasting what time he could have with Draco in an actual bed?)

Draco looked at him with all the artifice and sulking stripped away for a moment, then swallowed. “Lie down.” He pushed Harry’s shoulders gently and they eased themselves onto the bed. Once there, Draco’s indecision disappeared. He reached back toward the door with his wand and cast a sticking spell and a Muffilato, then climbed on top of Harry. They stretched out full length, and Draco kissed Harry. His lips were dry and a little chapped, but then he opened his mouth and the heat of it pushed Harry’s thoughts away. Draco kissed him on the mouth, then his jaw, then his neck, and finally gently bit his ear lobe. Harry arched his neck further back and Draco bent down to it. 

“I want you naked,” he whispered.

Harry’s mind shut down, as Draco started pulling his clothes off. First his jumpers, the two so thin they barely had the warmth of one, and then his shirt. Draco quickly unfastened the buttons, and then eased Harry out of the sleeves, detaching the shirt from under him and throwing it away. He then slowly pulled down Harry's trousers and pants.

“You’ve still got your shirt on.”

Draco sat up and tossed his own jumper and shirt away, then lay down beside Harry and started stroking his chest and sides. Harry reached for him, and Draco took his arms and stretched them over his head, pinning him lazily with one arm. Harry could have broken away, and they both knew it, but Harry was floating, letting Draco have him. Draco raised himself up to kiss each of Harry’s palms, then kissed down his arms to his neck. He bit Harry gently at the juncture of neck on shoulder, each side, then kissed him again. 

“You've never - have you -?”

“What?”

“Fuck. This would be so much easier without fucking talking,” sighed Draco. “Damn Theo anyway.”

He rolled to his side and took off his own trousers and pants, and threw them over. “It’s uncouth to keep your socks on, Potter.” He removed both their socks, then stretched out again. 

Harry could not fathom how he had come to this spot, with a rich boy on top of him, a very dim rich boy, he reminded himself, who couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag when on undercover jobs – undercovers, ha! – who was kissing his breath away. Their dicks rubbed together now that they were naked, and Harry ghosted his hand down to Draco’s arse and squeezed it. 

“Ahh,” Draco muttered and ground down against him. They kissed again, on neck, on chests, hands going everywhere, and Harry found out by accident that Draco had sensitive nipples. He’d shivered when Harry brushed his hand over one, then even more when Harry nibbled on it. It was all sensation, heat, and Harry wanted his hands all the way on Draco. He reached down between them. Draco whimpered a bit, then stopped moving.

“I – have to say something, Potter. Theo made me promise.”

“Who’s Theo?,” murmured Harry, not the least interested.

“See here, Potter – at school we were idiots. We didn’t know – no one had ever taught me – it was all dick-touching, and oh, fucking, and I do not want to ever talk about this except Theo said – “

“Who’s –“

“My cousin Theo.”

Harry stopped moving, lust draining away. “You – with your _cousin_?” He thought of Dudley above him, grunting, sweating, and felt suddenly cold.

“My third cousin once removed, fuck, Potter, all the purebloods are related to each other in some way. ‘Inbreeding, it’s for winners,’ as I believe girl Weasley once said.”

Fully awake now, Harry was angry. Draco had apparently fucked his cousin and wanted to talk about it. _Why_ would he talk about it, and what did it have to do with them, now?

Draco noticed the tension in his body. “Look Potter, I have to say this now. We all messed around in the dormitories at Hogwarts, but none of it- no one ever taught us about, you know, like Cynthia said.”

“I do not fucking remember what Cynthia said, and I don’t care. Why are you messing me around again?”

“It’s just - Theo taught me, ugh, this is terrible, but - how to make love, not just jack someone off, or fuck him. Theo taught me to – be generous. That – to take care of - Merlin, this is cringe. Utterly cringe.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy. Get out of here.” Harry had had enough of Malfoy dithering. One minute full steam ahead, one minute babbling. 

“No, you listen. I need to know – I need to ask you – Cynthia talked about consent. I need to ask – fuck it, this is ridiculous, but listen. I need to ask what you want, or don’t want, or if you want to stop. Theo taught me to ask and to listen, and to give, and you’ve – you’ve never been with anyone.”

“What are you on about! Do you or don’t you want to be here?”

“I do, Potter, but I had to say this. Salazar’s rotting corpse, this is so hard. You have to tell me if you want me to stop something.”

“I’m going to kick you out of bed if you don’t _start_ something.”

“Okay, then – “ and Draco slid down between Harry’s legs, one arm pressing over his chest, the other holding his hip hard. He breathed on Harry’s cock, and licked it, just the tip, and pressed his cheek against it. He murmured against Harry’s skin.

“You’re beautiful. You don’t know how beautiful you are. I’ve only been with white boys, and you – your cock is so dark, so beautiful,” and those were the last words Draco spoke for a long while. He started kissing Harry on his legs, working up from the back of his knees to his inner thighs, every so often going back to Harry’s cock to give it some attention. He kissed down from Harry’s navel, going down the long trail of dark hair, but only brushing his platinum blond hair against the spot Harry wanted him to touch most. Harry was thrusting up over and over again, now, and yelling at Draco. 

“Shit, don’t stop, go on already, stop teasing, don’t –” his voice cracked. Draco had opened his mouth very gently and taken Harry’s left ball in his mouth, holding it carefully and tonguing it. He let go of it and took the right in the same way. 

Harry grabbed Draco’s hair. “You wanker, you fucking tease, damn you, shit shit shit!”

Draco let go of Harry’s ball and poised his mouth over Harry’s cock. He looked up grinning. “Now, you do want this, right?”

“If you don’t – right now Draco, right now!”

Draco slipped his mouth down, down, and blessedly took Harry in. Then he slowly teased again, sucking, stopping to lick, going slowly faster and faster until Harry felt his body was flying through space. “God fuck shit!" He was getting close – and then Draco pulled off him and smirked. Harry's body stopped. He fucking stopped! He was almost coming and Draco, the utter bastard, had stopped him. He had never let go of Draco’s hair and now he pulled hard.

“Goddammit you sodding wanker, I’m going – to – kill – you – if –!”

Draco bent down again and sucked him off so hard and fast he saw sparks against his closed eyes. He didn’t register for a bit that Draco had a cool flannel in his hand and had carefully spit the spunk into it before kissing Harry’s dick, rubbing his cheek on it through the last shock. As Harry came back to himself, dazed, riding the heat down as he cooled, he realized that Draco had rolled over and was pulling himself off. 

“No, wait, I can, let me,” and Harry placed his fist above Draco’s, trying to move him off, but Draco gasped and kept going, both their hands moving up and down as Harry found his rhythm with Draco.

“Fuck fuck fuckkity fuck, oh _shit_!,” Draco cursed and came. 

Harry drowsed. Draco was sleepy, too, but was also thinking about the next time. It would require him, Merlin, to explain things, shit, “use his words.”

Harry woke up about two hours later. Draco was lying beside him, head propped on his elbow, idly stroking Harry’s chest.

“Good, you’re awake. I – there’s something else I want to try.”

“More?” Harry yawned, exposing his molars.

Yes, more. Draco wanted to do everything with Potter, explore every variation of sex with him, every position, and he thought – well, he’d always enjoyed sex, but now he wanted to make Harry happy, too. Theo and he had been together for only a few months last summer, before everything went to shit, but he had taught Draco how not to be a lout. How to please a man, be a partner. He had also tried to explain what Draco should do to please a woman, but Draco thought that wouldn’t occur. On the fellytone talking to Jane in London, when she was describing their home as a refuge for queer youth, Harry had said, “I usually go with bi,” but Draco never had. The only possible reason he would be with a woman was if he married to breed more Malfoys, he’d thought at fifteen, and now he had not the slightest inclination to perpetuate his line.

Draco shook his head. Harry had fallen asleep again, so Draco nudged him awake. “I want to – well, again, if you let me, try something else.”

“Mmm, okay.”

Draco gently rolled Harry to his stomach and patted his arse. Harry had a very fine arse.

“I don’t want it up the arse, Draco, no.”

“It’s not that. Here.” Draco brought out what he’d been hiding since he swiped it from the table at dinner. He scooted Harry’s thighs apart, and reached for the butter. It was nice and soft now. He rubbed it gently between Harry’s thighs, going forward to reach the perineum and balls.

“The fuck?” Harry looked back over his shoulder. “No dick in arse, Malfoy, I mean it.”

“It’s not that. It’s between your thighs. I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” Draco rubbed himself with butter, feeling his dick spring to life again. If he was good at this – and he thought he was good – Harry _would_ like it. 

He lay down on Harry again, kissing his neck, checking his breathing, and rolled him to the side to get him hard. It didn’t take long. He rolled Harry face down again, Harry going easily.

He rubbed more butter on them both, then he carefully slipped between Harry’s thighs, thrusting up, and brushing Harry’s dick from below. He’d been intrigued when Theo showed him. It was easier than sucking dick, which he’d prefer not to do twice in a night. This was slow, and he loved it. If Harry didn’t get off, he'd give him a handjob. 

“Okay?”

“This is fucking weird,” Harry muttered.

“You shush. You’ve had one blow job and think you’re an expert. Lots of things are weird when you first try them. Like olives and oysters.” 

“I fucking hate oysters, Malfoy, this is not – “

Harry bucked up under him, and Draco suddenly realized that he was about to forget what Theo had said. Damn. This was harder than he'd thought. He slipped out and turned on his back. 

"Uh. I'll show you later. I like cock between my thighs a lot and you can do it to me. Let's try this."

"It had not better be weird." 

"No, turn around, look at me." When Harry did so, Draco brushed the unruly hair back from Harry's face.

"Here. Like this. I'll hold you and you hold me." There was still enough butter on his hand to make it slippery when he reached for Harry's dick, but Harry didn't seem to know what to do. "You tosser, come on. Unless you really don't want to." 

Harry gripped him and squeezed. He gulped. "Not that hard." Merlin, this was horrible - he'd never had to explain before. "It's - crap, Potter, we're only going to get each other off. Surely that's not a difficult concept even for a sexual novice-" He stopped talking because Harry was kissing him and stroking like he'd spent his formative years behind the curtains of Slytherin beds. He opened his mouth and Harry's lips parted. Draco's busy mind quieted as thinking dissolved into sensation and warmth.

Later, Harry curled up on his pillow and drifted off. Malfoy was not playing him. Malfoy was posh, and weird, and sometimes a great bloody git, but once he’d awkwardly explained his desire to be reciprocal, and ask, and had listened to him, all those things Cynthia had said so long ago – this could work. They could work. He slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to waspabi for granting blanket permission to transform their work.  
> In a scene to show how rich Draco Malfoy is, I've used very loose figures from statistics on how much money families spend on food. I've also used an exchange rate of one galleon to twenty-five pounds, not the canon rate, based on what I read somewhere which updated said canon exchange rate. I can't be arsed to look up that reference again. I've also blithely ignored Draco's own statement at the end of HGHCFDOTR about how many galleons he has left, because I think he's a sneaky git who would hide his true financial situation. I don't care if I've got the numbers wrong; not important. I just want to show him being so rich he's not got a clue about the masses.
> 
> Also: I've referred briefly to a previous scene in Ch.6 of HGHCFDOTR, in which Harry and Draco receive a _deeply_ unwanted sexual safety talk, including information on consent, from friends of Hermione who have taken them in for the night. (Mistaken for a couple trope!) Masterfully hilarious, do not miss. I'm very pleased with Draco in my little scene, who actually remembered and _processed_ the talk when it counted. It's another shoutout to waspabi.


End file.
